


The hits we take for the ones we love

by bubblegumgirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season 2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblegumgirl/pseuds/bubblegumgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never told Scott what happened that night, and Scott never asked. He thinks that’s what hurt the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The hits we take for the ones we love

**Author's Note:**

> so apparently my muse wanted to be depressing today, so instead of finishing my other multishaptred story, i had to create a new one. 
> 
> I may be writing a companion piece to this from derek's point of view, but i dont know yet.
> 
> unbetaed so sorry for any mistakes  
> comments are love :)

He never told Scott what happened that night after the lacrosse game, and Scott never asked. He thinks that’s what hurt the most, more than the sharp pain of cracked ribs, or the dull ache of the bruises he’d kept hidden that sunk into his bones that refused to leave, a phantom pain that lingered even after the bruises had faded from his skin. No, the thing that hurt the deepest was that he was lost to his friend, all mixed in with the mess of Gerard and Jackson, lumped in with all the drama as just another unfortunately incident in the growing list of trouble in Beacons Hill. Oh sure he got a hug and a “glad your okay man” when he’d seen him in the warehouse, but his wince as Scott accidentally pressed on bruises and broken skin went unnoticed in favour of Alison breaking up with him.

Erica and Boyd never spoke about that night to him either, not that he blamed them, they were victims in this too, they had been forced to watch the way his head snapped back when Gerard fist flew towards him, the way his body shook when Gerard had started kicking him, all the while being rendered powerless themselves, the very thing they had become werewolves to get away from. They showed their support to him in their own way though, the way Erica’s eyes would occasionally flicker to his cheek, glancing at the red welt on his cheek, the only bruise he couldn’t hide beneath his clothes before flicking away. Or the way they became a little more tactile with him, quick touches to get his attention, a hand on his back from Boyd during lacrosse, each time making sure to keep them light, trying to avoid the bruises they knew were there.

They hadn’t seen everything though. They hadn’t seen anything after Gerard had dragged him up the stairs and thrown him into the back seat of his car. He was a message he’d known that, and messages worked best when they were alive so they could walk around and be seen, a living reminder of what the hunters could do if they wanted. Gerard had driven him into the woods, the four wheel drive driving over rocks and whatever else was in their way. Each bump and swerve made Stile’s injuries sit up and yell for his attention. But he stayed silent, holding onto any remnants of dignity he had left.

_“Good place to dump a body, eh?” Gerard joked, “Nice and quiet, no one around for ages would give someone plenty of time to dig a grave. Or you could just leave a body out here, plenty of animals to take care it.”_

_He laughed then, a dark gritty sound that had no real humour in it. He dragged Stiles out of the car, before dumping him on the ground and throwing his phone next to him._

_“Town’s in that direction.” He nodded back the way they’d come. “Call someone to come get you, if they’re not all too busy to bother.”_

_Stiles sat in the dirt and watched as the taillights disappeared into the trees_

_He hadn’t called anyone. No, instead he’d put his phone in his pocket and limped his way back to the road. It had taken him two hours to get to the edge of town on foot, two hours of limping next to the road, praying he was going in the right direction,  flinching at every rustle of leaves or sound of an animal moving._

_When he’d gotten home, he’d hidden his limp, swallowing the pain that ran up his leg every time he stepped so he wouldn’t worry his dad. He’d ignored the way his ribs had protested when his dad hugged him, just holding him tighter, before pulling away and making up some story to explain the mark on his face._

_He’d hidden his other injuries from everyone else too, lacrosse was over, so as long as he didn’t limp, no one really noticed the way he favoured the side Gerard’s boots hadn’t become friendly with._

Glad you’re okay, Scott had said. Glad you’re okay. No, he wasn’t fucking okay, he wasn’t even close. Why couldn’t Scott see that? Why couldn’t anyone see that? Why didn’t they notice the way his smile became more fixed each time he flashed it at them with some sarcastic comment. Couldn’t they see the winces he tried to hide each time someone hit a bruise they didn’t know was there?

“I’m sorry.”

It was Derek. Stiles turned his head so he could look at the werewolf who had just climbed through his window from his position on his bed.

“For breaking and entering? Although, really it’s just entering since you didn’t actually break anything. You didn’t actually break anything did you?” His joke fell flat, the effort just wasn’t there.

“You’re not okay.” Stiles couldn’t bring himself to deny it, he was so sick of trying. “And I’m sorry.”

Stiles sighed and sat up.

“It’s not your fault, Derek.”

“I should have protected you better; I should have known what he was going to do.”

“You can’t predict the future. Besides you had more important things to worry about.”

Derek shook his head and moved to sit next to Stiles on the bed. His hand took hold of the hem of Stile’s shirt, looking at Stiles for permission before pulling it up gently and taking in the myriad of bruising that was scattered over his torso. He found an unblemished section and rested his hand there, black veins ran up his arm as some of the pain disappeared. Stiles sighed in relief and rested his head against Derek’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” He breathed, lifting his head enough that he could brush his lips over Derek’s. It was barely a kiss but it was enough to send sparks running through him. He pulled the werewolf down to the bed, shifting back into Derek’s warmth as the older man wrapped a protective arm gently over Stile’s front. For the first time since that night, Stiles felt safe as the steady beat of Derek’s heart lulled him to sleep.


End file.
